apple
orchard sanitation
there
is an elation
when
we remove iron
for
wings
for
thoughts on string
for
what finds the marrow
for
when we sing
for
birds
for
songs
at
those infinite bisects
of
highways and desire
through
the cities
on
our way home
this
used to be pioneer land
but
too many hands
were
too willing
to
sell too many hands
said
the trees
when
will you die
when
will you extract
every
stardust memory
of
coal and oil
in the fruits
that fall
to the bottom
of me
when
will you stop
writing
on the cave walls
when
will you stop
the
spoils
the
buckle asphalt
when
you will start
the
streetlight blinking
everyone
in a homo gestalt peer
into the dark of humanity
when
will you notice
the
moments you all ride in
are
whirring rubber ghosts
against
the road and
into the
spaces between
the
combustion of molecules
and
the lean of getting home
when
everyone is in
Sunday
night TV land
and
those hands
that
fill the silence beneath
the
commercials between
the
paid segmentation
and your sleep cycle
are what the sponsors need you
to
dream about with the sirens on
constantly
in the background
and
the waver decisions
of
radio control frequencies
arriving
at the snap whip
speed
of sound
are what you
try to ignore
the words
for
this is when
the music makes it easy
to
be more invisible
than
your breathe
at
59 degrees
under a high-tension wire hum
we hear all the ways
we take to our masks
with crickets strumming
Autumn
into the middle
of September
this is how we wave
goodbye to another Summer
while we bleed
through the long
shadows
EJR
©
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hello there ...